Stories of crime and passion, punishment nd regret
by SageK
Summary: Prompt: Father Jack mentions that he has ink, but won't say where. It's driving Erica nuts imagining...


It started innocently enough. Hobbes had received a nasty gash on his side, courtesy of a V agent, and upon returning to HQ, Joshua, now on Earth keeping clear of Anna, who was not at all happy with him, went to work repairing the damage. The mercenary removed his shirt, allowing Joshua to work and, while cleaning the wound, the doctor asked, "Why do humans mark their skin in such a way?"

He was speaking about the fiery sword tattoo inked on Hobbes's left shoulder. The mercenary smirked a little and said, "Not a fan of the ink?"

"I simply don' understand the human fascination with intentionally inflicting pain upon themselves. Tattoos, piercing, brandings…Why?"

Erica smothered a smile at the clear confusion on the V doctor's face and it was Jack that said, "People get tattoos for lots of reasons. Some just like the look of them, others use them to mark an important event or person in their life. Still others feel strongly enough about something that they want to have a visible reminder to carry with them forever."

Joshua nodded. "May I ask what prompted yours?" he asked Hobbes politely and the mercenary grinned.

"Got drunk off my ass and woke up with it."

Heaving a sigh, Jack said, "Yeah, that happens too. Unlike most of my friends, I wasn't actively drunk or hung over when I sat for mine."

Hold up.

Did Father Jack just admit to having ink? Yes, he did….

Damn it! Like she needed another reason to picture him with his clothes off…oh God….

* * *

_Taut skin with a light, natural tan felt wonderful under her fingers. The small spray of golden hair at the center of his chest tickled her nose as she pressed a kiss over his heart. He pulled her close, strong hands on her hips lifting her, so she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, nails trailing down the intricate cross inked between his shoulder blades…._

Erica awake with a jerk and let out a soft curse. Every night since Jack had off-handedly mentioned having a tattoo, her sleeping sub-conscious had come up with images, in Technicolor, of what it might be. Her sub-conscious was also quite fond of putting her in sexy, compromising positions with Jack while discovering his body art.

Not that she minded, but it was a tiny bit embarrassing. The day before, Jack had innocently touched her back and she'd flushed, remembering the previous nights…musings. Hobbes had given her a _look_ but had been smart enough to hold his tongue when she glared. Jack had asked if she was okay and Joshua had heaved a sigh, clearly thinking they were all nuts.

And maybe these nightly, erotic dreams were driving her a little crazy. Not that she had never entertained less than prurient thoughts about Jack before, but she couldn't help that she had a thing for good boys with ink. It was just…something surprising and hot.

Her only choice, she decided, was to ask. If she knew, then maybe her brain would stop trying to conjure up images and inserting the thoughts of tight skin, bearing a he'd sat for willingly. Sometimes, she saw a cross, a passage from the bible…once, oddly, she'd seen a simple, inked star on a shoulder blade….

Taking a breath, she sat up and climbed out of bed, heading off to the shower. For a moment, she stood under the icy blast before adding hot to the spray.

Yeah, it was going to be that kind of a day.

* * *

After a brief visit to the HQ, where they'd had nothing new to report other than the fact that Joshua had apparently mastered the art of sarcasm thanks to Hobbes influence. To Erica's great amusement, the mercenary seemed disgruntled to have snark aimed at him. When she and Jack left, the V was holding up a coffee mug, filled with half coagulated liquid, that he'd found sitting in a box of files. Hobbes had simply shrugged and smirked, wandering off to do whatever he did, while Joshua's eyes had narrowed in a way that promised some creative and entertaining revenge.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm going to show up there one day and find one of them duct taped to the wall," Jack mused and Erica couldn't help but laugh. She'd never quite thought of that, but it was definitely amusing.

The continued to a coffee shop where they usually stopped and found their way to a booth. The usual waitress, who always flirted outrageously with both of them, seated them and proclaimed they both had to try the pie, it was decadently sinful.

They laughed and agreed and while she walked off to fetch the coffee and pie, Erica decided to bite the bullet. "Jack," she began, trying to find a way to phrase her question so it wouldn't seem so odd. "Can I ask you something that might seem a little silly?"

His eyes were amused and curious as he nodded. "Of course. You can ask me anything."

There really wasn't a neat way to ask her question, so she simply blurted it out. "So…what's your tattoo? Hobbes has a flaming sword ad wow, would Freud have a field day with that or what?"

Jack blinked at her, then laughed freely, a bright smile lighting up his face. "That's all?" he chuckled, clearly not finding the question too foolish. Then he sobered a bit and said, "A few of the guys in my unit, those of us that survived, we got inked to remember our lost friends."

He scooted his chair back a little and rested one booted ankle on the other knee, rolling up the leg of his jeans. On his calf, Jack had a rifle, propped up against a pair of boots, a helmet hung on the barrel of the gun. Below the boots, the words _Fallen Brothers _were inked.

So she was off the mark on her assumption that his tattoo would have some religious aspect or be a holdover from his college days. Instead, it was clearly something that touched upon the six years he'd spent in the army. He didn't talk about that time very often and she had the feeling that it was something that weighed on his soul. Though she'd never served in the military, she knew enough to be sure that a chaplain like Jack would not have carried a weapon.

But he'd learned to handle a weapon none the less. In the heat of battle, sometimes the lines blurred and you did what needed to be done to survive.

She knew that and she was pretty sure Jack did too.

He lowered the leg and returned to his normal seat as their food arrived. The pie was amazing and she was savoring a bite as Jack asked, "So, do you have any tattoos?"

"Me? No, never had the nerve to voluntarily sign up to get a needle…but who knows, maybe when all this craziness is over, those of us involved will get something," she smiled playfully. "Have to think up some sort of sign."

Jack smirked around his fork. "You know what the Roman Numeral for five is, right? A V."

He snickered and she flicked whipped cream at him. It hit his cheek, but did nothing to wipe away the smile as he swept the cream away with a finger. Which he then stuck in his mouth to lick clean.

Damn it. One erotic dream inducing mental image was just replaced by another.

* * *

Comments, pretty please?


End file.
